


Heat

by littleireland



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Enthusiastic Consent, High Temperature, M/M, Mutual Pining, Premature Ejaculation, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Summer, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 05:42:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20304394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleireland/pseuds/littleireland
Summary: The heat, like the memory of Draco so long ago, is something Harry just can't seem to shake.





	Heat

**Author's Note:**

> Grab a sip of water and a fan ladies and gents. It’s a hot one. Huge thank you to the kindest beta in the land, OllieMaye, for whippin' this one into shape after many splicings of the commas. All remaining mistakes are my own.

Exhaustion creeps in, hand in hand with the sweltering heat of the villa. The coastal air is hot as the sun rises and even hotter when it sets, heat radiating from the rooftops and sidewalks that have been blistered by the offensive rays all day. 

Harry had come to bed hours ago, sweat dripping from his forehead and neck, hoping to find some relief in the cool of his bed, however futile. He figures he’d been asleep all of thirty minutes before his lanky bedmate clambered into their room with hushed feet and stifled squeaks of the floorboard. He’s a light sleeper though, and having not shared a bed with anyone in years causes him to jolt awake as soon as the other half of the bed dips with new weight. 

Harry tosses the sheets off to his side, exposing his naked torso to the night air just as the humidity shifts in the tiny room.

A pause pulses through the claustrophobic space. The bedroom window is open and down in the streets below voices of jubilance and laughter can be heard as the last of the New Year’s spectators stumble to their homes.

A sigh Harry’s grown used to hearing over the years drifts through the air.

The bed shifts again and long pale legs bend to settle themselves in the space Harry’s left unoccupied. 

Harry closes his eyes and focuses on the sound of breathing next to him, slow and steady, rhythmic. The only other sound now is the faint rustle of the curtain as a meager gust wanders into the burning space. Draco’s steady breathing is the last thing he hears before slumber engulfs him in a warm hug.

His dreams are fitful and vivid, dragging him back to a drunken, fumbling night he’s so desperately tried to smother. Dim lights, slick bodies, and exploring tongues tangle Harry’s mind in ways that cause his heart to race, his palms to become clammy, and his boxers to tighten. Try as he might, he knows he’d never be able to forget how Jameson tastes just like Draco, and that’s exactly what he’s been drinking—the only thing he drinks.

When Harry comes to again, he isn’t sure why, his brow is sweaty and his cock is half- hard. He turns his head slightly towards the door where a faint light teases its way in the space between the door and the floor. His cheeks rub against the damp cloth of the pillow, stubble catching briefly, and he remembers where he is. For a moment, he’d been back at the bar years ago, jammed into a tiny cubicle in the bathroom. The only resemblance this tiny vacation home bears to the cramped bathroom are the two people inside. 

Next door he thinks he might hear the faint snore of his best friend.

He feels a soft gust brush his shoulder. 

He turns again just until he sees moonlit blond hair on the pillow next to his own, a sharp cheekbone in dark silhouette. 

A drop of sweat meanders down Harry’s temple. He can’t tell what time it is but if he has to guess it’s early morning. His muscles ache from poor sleep and a day spent traveling to the villa. A perpetual dampness clings to his dark skin. The sheets stick to his lower half. 

Shifting once more, Harry moves so he can look at Draco better. Neither of them had spoken about their sleeping arrangement since they’d arrived at the vacation home. They haven’t spoken at all really. Not since That Night. That fact could nearly send Harry on a tailspin simply because things had been going so  _ well _ between them. Looking back, he can now see the playful jabs, the lingering looks, the teasing, the protectiveness, the intensity, hadn’t spawned from an unexpected friendship at all. And when it reared its head, laden with whiskey and false bravery—well, they didn’t know how to carry on afterward. He and Draco weren’t exactly on the worst terms, yet not the best. Their relationship hung awkwardly between them, the silence filled with stilted quips and sidelong glances. Harry doesn’t really know exactly where they stand. 

He follows the line from Draco’s pointed chin to the bow of his mouth, almost invisible on his tightly pursed lips. Harry’s mind, still half-fogged with the remnants of slumber, doesn’t really know what it's seeing as his eyes drift further north to find a lake of ice staring back at him. Green and grey hold each other for what feels like an eternity when the silence is finally broken.

“You’re awake.” 

Harry thinks Draco meant to ask but it comes out blunt and dull. He nods. From where he’s lying on his back, he can see the silhouette of Draco’s body beneath the thin sheet they share, seemingly miles away on a bed barely big enough for the two of them. Draco’s hair is messy against the pillow, every hair soft and pliant as it falls in opposite directions. His eyes move again, further examining Draco and properly taking him in. He thinks he probably ought not to be looking at the other man he’s sharing such close space with so intently, but he doesn’t know if he will get another opportunity to observe a craft as careful as this.

The sheet is pulled down and sits haphazardly at Draco waist, hugging his narrow hips. A trail of honey-colored hair peeks from beneath it. Without thinking, Harry reaches out a hand until his knuckles brush the scorching skin of Draco’s chest, just to see if this is real. He moves them slowly, knuckles catching over the faded divots that remain from a mistake between them made so many years ago. He doesn’t know exactly how he knows but he’s vaguely made aware that Draco is no longer breathing, his breath stifled between a bitten lip and caught tongue. 

“What are you doing?” Draco whispers.

The voice in the otherwise silent bedroom jolts Harry back to where he is, who he’s with. His eyes widen in realization and he pulls his hand back, the warmth of Draco’s chest beneath the back of his hand like a searing iron. He rolls over quickly, yanking the bedding up with him until it's bunched around his neck. “I’m sorry, must have been dreaming.”

Stupid, stupid,  _ stupid _ .

Silence pulses through the room once more, mocking Harry’s embarrassment and fueling his racing heartbeat. He shuts his eyes tightly and wills, begs sleep to overtake him. A fresh wave of perspiration slicks his palms and forehead. He curses the heat.

The smallest of whispers pierces the deafening silence—“Harry.”

An invitation.

Faintly, he hears the sheet rustle. The bed creaks as weight is shifted, accommodating the movements with protesting groans. The space at Harry’s lower back feels crowded and hot. 

Draco shifts towards him, close enough that Harry’s nerve endings become alight with the sensation of being touched, while the only thing that makes contact is cool breaths on the back of his neck. Slowly, the sheet is pulled down, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake as it drifts down his body. A bloom of panic shoots through his stomach when he can feel the beginnings of a long-suppressed erection stirring in his pants at the thought of what might happen and the swath of memories it brings. 

The puffs of air on his back are steady and strong.

Like the touch of a feather, the pad of a finger begins tracing along Harry’s spine. Harry can’t stifle the shocked gasp, plea that slips through his gritted teeth. The contact is minimal and the least suggestive, but Harry can feel drops of precome pooling at his thigh. He’s never wanted anything more, he realizes, than to drown in Draco’s very being, be consumed by the fire he’s stifled every chance he’s gotten.

Half of him is terrified of the fierceness with which his body is reacting to the contact, while the other half is beginning to drown in the drunkenness of excitement, leaving no room to question the events as they play out. His nerves are on fire, his skin damp and preening under Draco’s barely-there touches. The patterns are slow and deliberate, starting at the nape of his neck and swirling to the base of his spine.

Suddenly Harry’s back in the stall, his sight hindered by the feeble glow of yellow bulbs. The arms around his body constricting with the quickness of a snake making lightwork of foreplay, engulfing him in confident, thunderous masculinity. Draco had him hard and exposed in seconds, mouth agape and thrusting into the air as the blond made known just how long he’d waited for this. He’d worked a finger into Harry while sucking his cock down greedily, all teeth. The pain had only turned Harry on even more and before he could even warn the other man, Draco was lapping down every last drop of his come before twisting him around and slamming him into the wall of the cubicle. Draco had fucked him hard and fast, grunting into his ear all the filthy things he’d like to do to Harry while Harry writhed in pleasure. When they’d finished, Draco kissed him for the first time, the taste of come still thick on his tongue before zipping himself and stalking out of bathroom.

Back in the bedroom, a hand slides up his abdomen towards his chest, yanking him back to reality. The hand curves at his neck and gently pulls him back into the other man’s chest. The press of Draco’s hardness into the swell of his arse causes more precome to drip from him. They’re together, chest to back, closer than they’ve ever been while still the furthest. 

“Okay?” Draco whispers.

Harry’s cock twitches and he has to clear his throat. Featherlight kisses against the back of his neck elicit another gasp from Harry’s tight-pressed lips, touches of tongue between them. 

“More than,” Harry breathes. He feels the curve of Draco’s smile he’d grown to know so well before against the nape of his neck. He takes this small win and stows it away for another time before rolling over to face Draco, who seems to lose all gusto under examination. “Let me look at you,” Harry tries, lifting Draco’s chin with the curve of his index. 

The blond tilts his chin away softly. “Your gaze has always been the hardest to meet,” he says vulnerably. To prove this, Draco’s eyes bounce around the room before he shuts them tightly. He takes a deep breath before opening them suddenly and saying, “But fuck if one night was enough of you.”

And then they’re kissing.

Their lips meld together as if this is what they were meant to do, legs tangling, fingers in each other’s hair, desperate to pull the other closer. Draco’s mouth still tastes like Jameson whiskey and his tongue is as slick and hot as before. Draco’s hand slips down to palm his arse, making Harry’s hips buck forward. Somehow Harry manages to push down his and Draco’s boxers, their cocks coming together with a loud moan somewhere in the middle. Just like before, Draco is quick to secure Harry’s wrist in his own larger hands, his pale skin a stark contrast from the chocolatey tone of Harry’s. Before he can protest, he’s on his back, Draco’s lips feverish as he kisses his way down to the trail of hair just above Harry’s cock. He buries his nose, teeth nipping playfully at Harry’s thighs.

Harry sucks in heavy air, anticipation nearly strangling him. He’s sweating all over, his skin slick, his hair wet. 

“Please,” he mouths, grey eyes locked on his.

Draco swallows him down in one motion, and the cry that falls from Harry’s lips is desperate. Draco lets his free hand crawl back up Harry’s torso until it’s resting at his lips, a reminder that they aren’t alone in the villa, although Harry can see the curve in Draco’s stretched lips. He sucks and sucks, bringing Harry to the edge until he’s just about to fall before pulling back and sizing him up.

The fire in Harry’s abdomen is filled with electricity and a tightness that intensifies as Draco grips his own cock. The hooded gaze, swollen lips, and heated eyes that now look black push Harry over the edge. He’s coming, hot spurts painting his own chest with the evidence of how sorely he’s been aching for Draco to touch him again. Immediately his cheeks redden, his eyes clamp shut and his hands up to cover his face.

“I’m sorry, fuck, I’m so sorry,” he says, embarrassment closing in on him like a wet blanket. “Goddamn it, I’m sorry.”

Large hands pull his own away from his face and he’s being kissed again. “Harry,” Draco murmurs between soft brushes against his lips. “That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Harry musters up the strength to open his eyes when he feels Draco once again descend down his body, pausing on his stomach to lick the stripes of come away from Harry’s skin. “I’m like a bloody teenager.”

Draco smiles, sweat dampening the ends of his hair until they look golden. “Not to mention, a huge boost to the ego.”

“Shove off,” Harry warns, a fresh tinge of rose painting his face again. The warmth has returned to Draco’s eyes and causes Harry’s heart to clench because Draco looks so young, so resilient, so powerful, not at all like the man he once was. 

Harry knows it wouldn’t take much to fall in love.

“Fuck me, Draco,” he says.

Amusement gone, replaced by something Harry can’t quite make out consumes Draco. He crawls forward until their noses are touching, eyes locked. “Properly this time,” he says, breath ghosting over Harry’s lips. Harry nods before pressing his lips lightly to Draco’s.

Draco sits back on his haunches before gently pulling Harry’s knees upward and apart. He takes in the sight and Harry has to bite his lip to keep from squirming. The hunger in Draco’s eyes has Harry’s cock filling again. He feels Draco’s long fingers, slick now, caressing his entrance slowly. The tip of his index finger circles the twitching ring before gently pressing forward. Harry feels the pressure build and dissipate as quickly as it comes as Draco adds another finger, then another. He’s done this before, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t feel like the first.

Soon, Draco’s fingers are scissoring, in and out, loosening Harry with sure skill. He’s ready after just a few minutes of prep, eager to have Draco inside him again, stretching him, filling him. He nods, giving Draco the signal to move. The blond lines himself up, cock head nudging against Harry’s rim. Harry can see Draco’s arms are straining taut, hands trembling slightly, bottom lip worried between his white teeth.

Harry sits up and wraps his hands firmly around Draco’s shoulders, pulling him closer has he lies back down. “I asked you to fuck me,” he whispers, catching Draco’s bitten lip between his own teeth. The blond rests on his forearms, framing Harry’s face. 

It’s as if that’s all Draco is waiting on because the next thing Harry knows, he’s being stretched. Draco’s cock buries inside him inch after tantalizing inch, pulling back minutely on each downstroke. The blond moans loudly, low and desperate when he’s fully seated. Harry groans too; Draco’s filled him in every way he could ever want.

“You told me, actually.”

Slowly, they begin to move. Draco snaps his hips forward, rutting into Harry’s mutual thrusts. Every rock of Draco’s narrow hips causes his cock to harden even further, every stroke a jolt of pleasure to Harry’s prostate.

“You feel so fucking good,” Draco grunts out. 

Harry moans in approval when Draco speeds his pace, thrusts growing sloppier. The heavy air of the room is filled with the sounds of sliding skin, slick bodies, drawn gasps, and pleasure-filled moans. It takes only a few more rough thrusts before Harry’s coming again with a stifled cry, painting the space between them with his come. Draco watches each spurt, eyes darkening. He leans down and kisses Harry harshly, and suddenly tenses before groaning loudly and spilling into Harry, marking him.

“Fuck, I’m coming,” he moans.

Draco rides out the last of his orgasm, each push of his hips sending another wave of aftershocks through Harry. They hold each other close, stickiness a not altogether unwelcome aftermath of their actions. When Draco slips out, he kisses Harry once more, softly this time. Draco’s arms are a place Harry’s somehow known he should be, some place he could let go and just be. The thud of Draco’s heart is a steady pattern that holds him to earth. The tiny bed doesn’t seem so small now that they’ve become one in it. He prays this is where he will always be and deep down he knows this is the beginning of the chapter that was always so obvious but he never saw coming. He’d stay here forever in the heavy heat if it meant staying just like this.

  
  



End file.
